


Nights in Ham Common

by clearinghouse



Series: Ham Common [2]
Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Baccarat, First Time, Fluff, Ham Common, M/M, Raffles POV, Romance, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Theft, mentions of childhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-13 11:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10513035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearinghouse/pseuds/clearinghouse
Summary: Raffles and Bunny sleep together for the first time. Twice.(Sequel toLetters from Ham Common. Can be read alone.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [3rnest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3rnest/gifts).



The business went down on the very night after that particular rainy midday when my dear Bunny first told me that he loved me. 

We were playing a game of baccarat. The dinner jackets that were still on our arms revealed that we had finished our final meal not long before. Bunny was to my left at the table, and I was to his right. 

Our own version of the game of baccarat is quite unlike the normal one, however. In no place in our house can one find the tiny counters of square or circle shape which so colourfully stand in for money lost and gained. A long time ago, we had learned to share our property like a married couple, until it no longer made sense for us to wager money between us. For most of our association, we had dispensed with that mode of entertainment between ourselves. 

However, sometime over the course of the years of this endless holiday of ours, Bunny struck upon a novel variation of the game that suited us marvellously.

I was banker. We had just made our stakes. I drew a card for him, a card for me, a card for him, and another for me. He concealed his two, as I did mine, while he reviewed his catch. There is almost no strategy to baccarat, with the possible exception of counting cards; everything else is luck and memorization. He must have known instantly what his next move would be. Even so, there was still a pause of a few seconds while he took in his hand.

Bunny laid his cards down beside his half-full tumbler. “I stand,” he said.

My next thought came to me automatically: he drew no third card, so the _modulo_ ten total of his cards must be a five, six, or seven. This thought was a useless one; I had long ago committed to memory every play and counter-play. I glanced down at my cards: they were a seven and a five, giving me a _modulo_ ten sum of two. On account of my low total, and that fact that he must have a high hand, I was compelled to draw a third card of my own. It was a face card, which was, of course, of null value and did not increase my paltry sum. Smiling at my own impending doom, I revealed my seven and five.

“Looks like it’s my six to your two,” Bunny said. He showed his own cards: a six and a face card. 

In most games of sport, there is a certain sting that comes on the heels of a defeat. It is a glorious sting, one which chides for past negligence, encourages future improvement, and gives one the comfort of knowing one does not stand alone in one’s chosen field. Yet games of chance are not so sporting, and I felt nothing at all for my loss.

Yet I did feel something for my friend’s small victory. It might have been the cheery sentiment in Bunny’s face, which flashed brightly under the central gaslight. He was waiting for me to pay up. The excitement to be had tonight was not in the battle of the cards, but in the giving of the payment itself. 

I sat back in my chair. “When I was a lad, I had dreams of becoming a painter,” I said. “Not as a profession, you understand, but as an amateur. It was something to do with capturing the beauty of things for myself, I should think. As you may recall, I had some aptitude for it in school, though it was brutishly overshadowed by my place in the first eleven. Sometimes I wonder if I should have pursued the line. The methods and materials of oil-painting did hold my interest for a little while, and I studied their details to a fine point, but for my efforts I actually painted very little. There was never a subject that won me enough.”

Bunny, ever my respectful audience, tilted his head in thoughtful contemplation as I spoke, and waited until I was finished before speaking himself. Before even I was done, however, his lips had parted in realization. “That explains your old studio!” he exclaimed. “You actually painted in those rooms, then?”

“Not in that place, no, ironic as I acknowledge that to be. I always designed for those rooms to be nothing but a second hole to hide away in. And, to be excused for collecting so many costumes in one flat, I had to be a painter, or a dramatist.”

“Oh.” The news disappointed him, briefly. “But, no, it can’t be a coincidence.” A charming light slowly came to him, and his next words were so reverent as to be almost a whisper. “Ah, I see. Your childhood dream never fully went away, did it? It was your inspiration for that studio. Why,” and here he turned positively playful and took on an abrupt suspicion that I was a fellow member of the secret brotherhood of that creative and educated branch of craftsmen, “you still secretly dreamed of being a painter, even if you didn’t know it for yourself?”

It was a cute notion. It staged me in a distinctly mortal light. On top of that, it was exactly the sort of conclusion I had expected from my friend, who was always wondering at the methods and secrets of my mind. Since the days of our first intimacy, he alone had made it his first mission to gently pry open and look upon the emotions and flaws that I kept hidden from everyone else.

To be fair, it was a fascination that struck both ways. This mutual fascination was never quite satisfied in either of us—which was why this penniless variant of _chemin de fer_ was such a thing of genius.

I replied lightly. “Ah, are you calling it an influence of—what do the neurologists call it—my unconscious? As interesting as that would no doubt be, I’m afraid I won’t put much stock in that. It had to be painter or dramatist, and to be a dramatist is to draw attention to the wrong talents. No, my dear rabbit, you’ll find that I’m a trifle more straightforward than you give me credit for.”

Bunny acquiesced with a slightly embarrassed simper. It was a boyish, lopsided sort of smile, coupled with eyebrows upturned as if in sadness. It was a beautiful but anxious expression, one that made him seem even more innocent than he normally did. “All right,” he deferred, softly. “But I don’t think I will ever find you to be as plain as you say.”

I had half a mind to raise my fingers from the table and stroke the nervousness away from his curved cheek. With effort, I had to check myself. Patience, my mind chided me. Let him be the one to set the pace of intimacy; don’t overcome him before then. I fixed myself to sit attentively upright once more. “Well, I won’t argue with the chap who lives with me.”

“I think it’s nice,” he added, “if you still fancied being an artist, sometimes.”

My eyebrows rose not a little at his brave remark. Yet that small show of surprise on my mastered face did not reflect how pleasantly my egoistic soul jumped in my chest. Did I genuinely think about being an artist? I wasn’t sure of the answer to that myself. But that wasn’t what mattered. The fact was that my confidante, who would have been justified to mock a secret that I might or might not own, instead thrust upon me his kind and unconditional acceptance for my perceived shameful secret. It was a sweet and startling blow.

He blushed at my speechlessness. “Well—! I mean to say, it’s not a bad thing! I won’t think less of you for it!”

I cut him off with a blow of my own. “And I won’t think less of you,” I said cheerfully, “if you’re with the neurologists on the issue of the influence of my unconscious.”

“What?” he cried. “I—I’m not!” His protest was of no use, though he had my sympathy for trying. He was smiling widely, despite himself. My inflated ego redoubled in size for how he was smiling because of what I had said. My soft-hearted friend was as weak to my respect as I was to his.

“Whichever you like,” I said. A slight inhale to steady myself once more, and then I pushed us forward. “Now, are you ready for the next hand? I’m staking—let’s see—a childhood hero. Can you match it?”

After he’d collected himself, he nodded feverishly. “Yes—yes, I’ve got one of those.” Somehow, we never did seem to run out of things to tell one another. 

I handed him his card, took my own, gave him his second, and took my second. I glanced at my haul. When I saw that I had an eight and one, I didn’t wait for him. “I’ve got a natural.” To be clear, a natural in Bunny’s baccarat is the same as a natural in the regular kind: that is, there’s a total of either eight or nine in someone’s hand, and everyone must stand immediately. 

He laid his own cards flat. They were a queen and a ten; in other words, a zero and a zero, which came out to a tragic _modulo_ ten total of zero. His dismal hand was a trifle comedic, when compared to my perfect sum of nine. “All right.” He sighed briskly. “My, uh, childhood hero.” However, he hesitated.

I encouraged him. “Yes?”

Bunny scratched the back of his neck. “The character Dupin,” he said at length. “From the Poe stories. He was different than most heroes in stories. I liked how he solved mysteries for the pure fun of it. He saw so easily through everyone and everything, and made fools of the police, and yet hardly cared if others ever learned about how superior he was to them.” A swallow bobbed down his throat. “I must have envied that ability,” he admitted, “and that confidence.”

I thought I heard a double meaning in his words.

I was right. “No, wait!” Bunny shook his head in a sudden agitation. “That’s not right. I hate to say something so juvenile, but my hero was not Dupin—it was you, a Dupin come to life!” He spoke in a deuce of a hurry. “But pray don’t take offence at that, and don’t get the wrong impression. That was what I thought as a child, AJ. It was a long time ago. I don’t think like that anymore.” He smiled. “We’re partners, through good and bad, right? Well, that’s what you’re always reminding me, anyway.”

I was exceedingly glad to hear him say it. I rounded off his words speedily. “Indeed we are! And rest assured, I quite understand your meaning.” Neither did I think of Bunny as a child any longer, and I hadn’t for ages. “All the same, you’ve flattered me,” I said, “and I won’t ignore it. I still remember those days when you were just a lad lying on my rug, writing a piece for the school paper while I read in my chair. You hadn’t grown into my right-hand yet, but you were a decidedly sympathetic, endearing bundle of a chap, even then. Forgive me, but you were something of an idealized creature, too, in my eyes, considering what distinctly kind and easy company you gave me. It wasn’t disagreeable to have such a good little rabbit around, mind you, though as you say, our arrangement was woefully unbalanced. I daresay, look at us now.” I gestured at the two of us. “We’re on the same level, and wearing the same clothes; and I daresay I like this a far sight better.”

Bunny was so thoroughly disarmed by what I had said, and the sincerity with which I had given it its due spirit, that all his anxieties were, for the moment, a thing of the past. He laughed aloud out of joy. He leaned in toward me. His high-strung nerves were plain, but it wasn’t strong enough to offset the determination that he had suddenly summoned. “AJ,” he murmured excitedly, “it’s getting late. That is to say, do you want to keep playing baccarat?”

I didn’t hide my own excitement at his change in tone, and leaned in to cover much of my own half of the distance between us. “I can’t say that I do.”

Bunny was ecstatic. At long last, he seized his moment. His fingers ghosted across my cheek. He came in close to me, until finally, his lips were upon mine. My eyes fluttered half-shut at the feel of the softness of his skin and the roughness of his tongue. I followed his speed. 

When he pulled away, there was a disbelieving look about him, as if he feared I might be too good to be true. There was a nervous swallow from his slim throat. He was terribly short of breath, and his voice was sorely tight. Nonetheless, he gave it his best. “Would you go to bed with me?” he asked. 

“I would like nothing better.” Sometimes, patience has it rewards.

His large eyes sparkled keenly. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do!” Tenderly, he held onto both my hands. “I only meant that we might sleep in the same bed tonight. Would you like that? You don’t have to stay with me all night, if that’s too much.”

I wondered for how many years he had waited for this moment. After all those years, my dear, loyal Bunny would finally have what he needed from me. For me, there could be no greater satisfaction than matching his dedication to me with my own to him. “That shouldn’t be too much.”

“I’m serious, I won’t abuse your trust in me.” He gripped my hands more tightly. “I want to do this right. I’m so grateful for this chance that you’re giving me. I promise, I won’t let you down, not if I can help it.” There were quiet tears in the corners of his big eyes. “The man who’s been my friend and mentor for so long deserves that much from me.”

Nothing in the world was more beautiful than my kind, mild friend. I knew it for a fact that if he never wanted to leave our untroubled home in Ham Common, then I never would, either.

We abandoned the table to its busy state.

I told Bunny that I would meet him in his room. Even though leaving his side was the last thing I wanted to do, I had to change into my own dressing gown. I explained this to my companion, and he agreed with the necessity, thought our parting was bittersweet. 

In my bedroom, I changed my clothes with careful haste. My dinner jacket came off easily, as did my waistcoat after that. As I hung up my shirt and trousers, however, I faltered. I felt that what I was about to do was more momentous than I was realizing. This was the first night that I would give to Bunny. Though he desired me, and it was not an unreturned desire, he had said that tonight would be an exercise in innocence. Was it really only sleep he meant for us? 

The occasion was so ground-breaking that it almost didn’t matter whether it was a chaste one or not. This was our first night of romance—the first night for us to rest against each other’s body and to abandon ourselves to the trust of the other. I expected to rise in the morning before him, as I usually did; would that offend him?

With my dressing gown on top of my warm underclothes and tied about my waist, and a slipper on each foot, I left my own room and went to find that of my friend. 

On my way to him, I shut off the central gaslight. A hush descended with the black shade that darkly coloured the furniture, the unlit fireplace, and even each playing card on the table. There was still some light; a little of it came from outside, and the rest flooded faintly in from Bunny’s bedroom. I followed the glow.

His door was wide open. He had left it that way for me. I wasn’t to knock; I was to enter as soon as I’d come. 

I paused in the hallway.

Why was I pausing? I wasn’t sure. I was in good health, though my limbs were suddenly weak. It was a mystery to me. This wouldn’t be the first time I’d come into Bunny’s room, of course, and not even the first time in my current state of dress. His bedroom had seen me waking him from the occasional bad dream, and then remaining with him thereafter until he found sleep again. My own room had hosted conversations between us that I cannot remember but which often lasted through the evening and past the small hours. 

We were very familiar with another, Bunny and I. It was only out of the habit of our house that there were ever walls between us at all. It was a profound comfort, knowing that my better half was no more than few doors away; and surely Bunny knew that he could ask after my company any time of the night it was wanted—or, at least, in my past ignorance of his deeper feelings, I used to believe that.

I took a few more steps forward. Each arduous step was akin to crossing a bridge over a valley of impenetrable depth. “Bunny?” I softly approached his threshold, and looked inside his room.

For an instant, Bunny was there by his bedside lamp, trying to calm himself on the edge of his bed, and thrilling visibly at my appearance. The next instant, he was rising on unsteady feet to greet me. “AJ!” He was dressed as sparsely as I was. His dressing gown was as fine in quality as mine; the only difference was that mine was a low red, whereas his was an off white. 

When we had first come to Ham Common, I was adamant that we replace as many as those clothes which life in St Earl’s Court had seen fit to endow with bad histories as well as the foul smells of medicine that I was impatient to forget. Though I did not expect much in the way of social revelry for us in this phase of our careers, I told Bunny to secure for us only the best of dress. It was a peculiar point of pride of mine that Bunny and I have only the best of clothes. It did not matter if the clothes were of material gain. Nine times out of ten, our dinner jackets were for our own private enjoyment. This state of affairs was doubly true for our evening clothes, which even our landlady did not find us in. Only I will ever relish how beautifully and comfortably the ends of his intricate gown curved about his ankles.

Yet instead of noticing the fineness and sparseness of his clothes, I noticed how overwrought with anticipation and concern he was. 

He, too, must have reflected on the change that tonight was destined to bring to our friendship. The wild uncertainty of it was plainly difficult for him to bear. In this regard I empathized with him, though the fierce beating of my heart did not show through my calm, collected exterior. “There’s nothing to be nervous about,” I reassured him.

“But, I am nervous,” he admitted instantly. His words were half-whispered. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so nervous. I’m happy that you’re here with me, I really am. Thank you for this. Whatever happens. Thank you.” 

I decided that I should never have left him alone at such a vital hour. “Is something the matter?”

He halted the approach he had begun toward me. When he did stop moving, it became clear to me that he was shaking. It wasn’t especially obvious to the eye, but I, in my worry for him, was looking for it. “I don’t know,” he said, “but you’re everything to me, AJ. If I make a mistake—if you don’t like this—will you tell me?”

I frowned. I could not allow him to go on like this. I still feared overpowering his meeker, sweeter nature with my own inborn energy and authoritative instincts, but this much of his apprehension was too much for me to suffer. Later, Bunny would lead us, and I would faithfully follow. Only a minute or two of support from me for right now, I told myself, and then afterwards my destiny would be his to guide. “I will,” I promised, “but only if you give it your best.”

His worry mixed with a new sense of hope. 

I held my arms out. “Come here, will you?”

Slowly, he did come nearer. 

I didn’t let another second go to waste. I took the closing step, and embraced him. I stroked the back of his neck. “And you should know that I won’t let you back out of it now,” I whispered. “Not when you’re so close to getting what you’ve been wanting from me all this time, Bunny.”

He hesitated, for an age-long moment that lasted a year if it lasted a second. Then, he surrendered himself to my warmth. He hugged me around my chest. For him, my arms were a much-needed balm. I pressed my palms to the back of his silken gown until at last he gave up his tension and fell onto my strength. He sighed into my shoulder.

Without warning, my criminal imagination presented to me an evil, alluring temptation: why, after all, should Bunny lead? It would be the work of a moment for me to take him to bed myself. I would part the sheets, and lie him down with tender words. He would love that attention from me. My fingers would stroke his straight, flaxen hair, which was as different from my own black curls as his pure-hearted, unambitious soul was from mine. With hands and knees, I would creep over him like a vine. And then—what would I do next? What does a man like Bunny want?

I did not know. He alone knew. 

Bunny released one more protracted sigh into my gown, before removing himself from my protective embrace. He was beaming, and refreshed, and looking himself again, relatively. “All right. I won’t quit! Which side do you like!”

I hummed. “Which side of what?”

“My bed!” he said, in a miniature fever of excitement. “I mean, the left, or the right?”

Before I could finish marvelling at such an unexpected question, he waved his hands.

“No, never mind that.” He shook his head at himself, then pulled back his sheets. “Um, go on, if you like,” he invited, a touch awkwardly. In his kindness, he was still feeling for my boundaries, and I supposed he would continue to do that for a while to come.

But his selflessness did not agree with my own need to see him satisfied. I smirked at his care and his politeness. “Ah, you’re asking me to lie down now, yes?”

“What—yes!” He tried to make an angry face, but his giggle undid it. “Of course I am!” Assuming the manner of a drill sergeant, he stood his ground, and even shook the sheet in his hand to assert his motive. “Lie down! Make yourself comfortable! Please!”

“Well, then.” His bold request enthused me, as soundly as a holiday gift enthuses a child. “Certainly.”

He huffed restlessly. Admittedly, it was quite bad of me to be difficult with my friend on purpose, but how could I not, when it proved so effective in bringing Bunny to bat? It wasn’t a new trick of mine, to be sure, and I cannot doubt that Bunny knew what I was doing, and yet this method systematically worked without fail. Perhaps he enjoyed how I made a challenge of even asking me to repose on his bed. Come to think of it, it’s a fair trade: even in the bedroom, he fills me with his restful complacency, while I stuff him with my sporting drive.

I kicked off my slippers and took my place, in the very centre of his pale linens, rather than one of the sides. I was a great ass to do so; I was a greater one for how I reposed on my back, with my head managing to fall on both of his pillows; I was the greatest one when I smugly folded my fingers neatly underneath my head and goaded him on with a teasing smile. 

Bunny, my old friend, was naturally entertained by the spectacle of my inappropriately sporting behaviour, but not diverted. The game was still in him, and he was clearly eager to prove himself superior to the challenge. Before going on, he shut off his bedside lamp.

I could not see much of anything in the darkness that ensued. It was a shame that my companion missed my face of admiration for his courage, though he must have known very well what that looked like by this time in our association.

There was silence. A near-perfect silence descended with the total darkness. I felt the weight of the mattress shift to the press of Bunny’s knees. 

My skin tingled. My breathing shortened. My mind hurried to try to predict his next action. Suddenly I passionately hated that I had taken the centre of the bed. By doing so, I had risked depriving him of a spot, if he only wanted us to sleep separately in our own hemisphere of the bed, and not in such close contact as I recklessly fancied. 

However, if it was close contact that he was in need of tonight, then I absolutely needed him to have it. Out of a sheer craving to reach for him, to touch him, and to bring him closer, I unfolded my hands. Whichever position he took with me, I had a burning urge to cradle his body with mine. 

As his black outline hovered near me, I expected him to ask that I move over and give him his needed room. By Jove, he did not! He pulled the covers over us, up to my waist, and one of his arms fell into a vertical line onto my sternum. The soft weight of the heavy sheets was a welcome reprieve to the slight cool of the winter evening, to be sure, but it was nothing in comparison to Bunny’s immense heat on me. He blended himself smoothly with my side. At the crook of my neck and the corner of my chest, his head nuzzled me. I could feel his hair barely at my chin. 

I exhaled. The satisfying sensation of his body on top of me—of his happiness at being on top of me—was blissfully good. In fact, I’d almost prefer to be flippant about how good it felt, because it really was that absurdly euphoric, and I can’t make sense of it otherwise. There was brilliant friendship in his chest and stomach; there was flirtatious fondness in his knee and foot. His high regard was in his arm on me, and the gentle hand that was flat on my collarbone was the sweet embodiment of the endless trust between us. The air was thick with his familiar, inviting scent. 

While his gown adorning his body coalesced thoroughly into mine, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I adored him. Why hadn’t we done this before? I marvelled at the foolish Raffles of years gone, the one who had kept Bunny as his partner for almost ten years; the one who believed himself to be cleverer than most, and yet hadn’t gotten an inkling that his tried and true partner loved him like this!

“How’s this?” Bunny breathed. 

“Bang-up,” I murmured. “First-rate.” I was too in awe to think of going on making a game of this. I didn’t have it in me. I was in such a glorious shock of a daze. 

His legs were kept apart, until one arm of mine wrapped around his shoulders. Then, one of his knees went over my thigh, so that my body was fully supporting half of his smaller form. My spare hand sought to lightly grasp his elbow at my stomach, and swiftly found it. Eventually, we grew accustomed to our new nirvana. Our breathing calmed as one. 

He was palpably happy to the utmost; and I am sure that I was, too.

“Good night,” he said.

“Good night,” I said. 

And so ended our first evening shared as partners for life.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m going on a picnic,” Bunny whispered, though the thrill of his nerves still came through the low tone, “and I’m bringing butter.” He pulled at the rug beneath a sturdy table, to noiselessly position it in front of the window. 

“Can I come to the picnic?” I answered with a similarly cautious aim of voice, though the risk of us being overheard from one of the other houses was nearly zero. “I’ll bring the bread.” Glancing around, I decided upon the semi-decorative sheet off of the nearest armchair. I took it. 

Once the table moved, he pulled back the curtain, and held it there. “I’m sorry, you can’t come with bread, but you can come with rolls.”

With a quick jump onto the window sill, I stuffed the sheet into the alarm bell that Bunny had made visible for me, and adorned the window frame. “Can I bring rice?”

Like a true gentleman, he offered a hand as I ascended and descended the table. “I’m sorry,” he said, “you can’t bring rice, but you can bring pudding.”

“Can I bring mushrooms?” I helped him drag the rug and its table back into place. 

“No—oh,” he brightened, “yes, that’ll do fine.”

“The word needs to have two of the same letter together.” I checked the road outside for any signs of life.

Bunny nodded. “That’s right. Your turn, then?”

“I’m afraid there’s no more time for fun,” I said. I unlatched the window, and opened it; the sheet that filled the bell deadened the warning to the neighbourhood it would have raised. “Shall we be off?”

That was the beginning of that singular night, the one which saw the end of our mutual chastity.

It had been more than a few days since we had first slept together. We had continued to sleep together. Each time that we kept company underneath the sheets, the chosen room was his. Each time, we grew more accustomed to our new ritual. Very soon it had the feeling as if we had always done it. We even came to expect it as how our day must necessarily end; for example, on one charming occasion, we each stayed up half an hour later than was preferred because I thought Bunny was still occupied by his writing and he thought I was still engaged in my reading, and we were waiting for the other to finish before we would retire as one. 

Unfortunately, we had not gone so far as to share his room entirely. My clothes, my shaving blade, and the various other articles with which I groomed myself all remained in my own bedroom. Consequently, I had to return to my own wardrobe for my nightclothes before I could join Bunny. The reasons for this were of a practical nature: my things went into my room, and his things went into his, and to mix them up would be to throw that old, dependable system into disorder. And who is to say we didn’t each need the short breathing periods alone that the arrangement afforded us? Even so, I often thought about the problem, and potential solutions to it.

Though this night’s haul was among our poorest, we were as jovial as if we’d made off with the queen’s purse. The rush of the crime pumped its youthfulness and energy into us. 

I carelessly tossed the sparkling contents of my jacket onto the same table that had so recently been a host to a game of baccarat; the clattering of silver was music to our ears. Only the man of the donor house had used the safe—the woman having been, as I knew her to be, too wary of burglars to risk use of so evident a hiding place—and so out fell only that fellow’s rings, tie bars, a couple of pocket watches, and their fobs. We had not taken from the safe other personal items of little market value.

The reason for our shared elation was less to do with the theft and more to do with the welcome routine of the excitement. We had not gone out on our bicycles at night since the moment of his confession, and even before that, that unsophisticated hammock of ours was the most notable catch in recent memory. To find that this emphatically less romantic aspect of our partnership remained unchanged was a welcome relief to me, and, evidently, to him.

While we were out, everything was unchanged. We hadn’t exchanged kisses, or held hands, or generally reassured each other to any greater extent than each of us had long ago made it a habit to do. He had even called me by my surname. We were perfect professionals, and there is a certain feeling of calming kinship that comes over professional fellows whose minds are joined at hard work. 

However, the return to our sanctuary swiftly undid all of that. Our privacy was restored, the breathless agitation of our pulses lingered, our bodies were full of unspent energy; and, though I hadn’t suspected it, this was the opportunity that my rabbit had been bottling himself up for.

“You were incredible,” he applauded me. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you make quicker work of a safe!” His vigour was combusting inside of him, making him not exactly jumpy, but nearly that.

His kind-hearted admiration gave me a full head. I nodded my thanks. “These fingers have a tendency to want to make the picks fly like machines,” I confessed freely, lifting up the digits and flexing them in front of him, “when it’s you who’s watching them.”

Bunny laughed. An angel’s chorus could not have compared. “You can’t say that!”

“I did say it, and I’ll not take it back.” I smirked fiendishly, like the absolute villain that I was. “And because it is so delightfully easy and rewarding to please you with a few kind words, I’ll add this: I could be satisfied with my meagre exploits tonight, if only these trinkets we earned were half as handsome as you.”

It was winningly cute how he became simultaneously ecstatic and flustered. “The sun might as well compliment the moon on how bright it is!” he exclaimed, and I chuckled a protest at this. He reached out and took my splayed fingers in his own. His smaller glove fit loosely against my larger one at first, but we could feel our mutual desire for more. Together we made the fold a tight one. The darker skin tone of my wrist brought out the lightness in his. 

I saw him bounce on his feet, and lick his lips. As bewitching as he was, I wondered what might be the cause for his fresh anxiety, and was about to ask him, when he beat me to it.

“AJ,” he said, “I don’t know if now is the right time. I don’t know if there’ll ever be a right time, for me to ask this from you. But if you’d like to, and since I’d very much like to—”—he swallowed down the lump in his throat—“—I’d very much like to take you to bed tonight.” He stepped closer to me, and our arms bent as a pair until he was but a breath away from me. “I—I don’t mean for sleep.”

“I understand,” I murmured slyly. Since I had promised myself in body and soul to him, I had been waiting for this proposition of intimacy from him with such an iron patience that I had surprised even myself. It wasn’t that I longed for carnal relations, necessarily, but that I longed hopelessly to fulfil my best friend’s deepest desires, and to be closer to his heart than his own skin. I had counted on my reliable partner to bring us to that mysterious dance of passion when he was ready to share his passion with me, and at long last, he was. “Of course, I’m all yours to take.”

Bunny half-gasped, half-grinned. He couldn’t contain the effervescent joy breaking through his fragile seams; nor did I wish him to. “All—all the way?”

“You may take me to the very limit, wherever that limit may lie.” I leaned forward, and spoke suggestively into his ear. “When you want me,” I echoed the treasured words that he had once said to me long ago, “I’m your man.”

The corners of his mouth curved in the best way. He had to blink fiercely; the action didn’t stop liquefied happiness from streaming in little bursts down his face. “Ah, sorry,” he said, removing himself from our weave of fingers so that he could wipe the tears away. 

I always felt a surge of protectiveness for him whenever he was so moved. “It’s all right—”

He moved too quickly for me. He held my head, pulled me down a bit while he made up the rest of the distance with a stretch of his toes, and locked his lips with mine. The soft brush from him was sudden, overwhelming, and magnificent. Into the fire of his warm and unconditional affection, I melted. I was floating on air. All the loyalty and friendship I had for him in my heart ignited like an inferno. At least, I endeavoured to return his devotion as well as I could.

As he brought me to his bedroom, he still kissed me along the way. Our sweet embrace gradually dissolved from chastity and composure into want and disorder. There were the smallest of appreciative groans from both of us as we each enjoyed the secret taste of the other. I anchored myself to his shoulders, while he caressed and directed my centre of gravity. He gently and fondly explored my mouth, and I blithely acquiesced to the pleasant experience. I didn’t actually observe where I was back-pedalling to, but I had placed my trust in Bunny to lead me, and he never did let me down.

Once we were past his door, our dinner jackets and shoes came off and onto whatever furniture or rug was generous enough to bear them for us. He guided me by my waist to his bed, and had me moving backwards until my knees bent at the edge of the bed, and I collapsed onto the unturned sheets.

From where he still stood, Bunny shut off his lamp.

All light was gone at once from his bedroom. That was when I comprehended that Bunny had closed the door behind us on the way in. He had meant all along to obscure the proceedings. I was surprised. In this near-total darkness, I could not see Bunny’s face at all; this struck me hard, since looking upon its well-known sweetness had been ambrosia to my eyes. I’m not a modest fellow, and this shy darkness didn’t suit me, but perhaps it suited my companion? No, I did not believe so. If that were true, he might have waited until we were at least out of waistcoats. 

Bunny removed something like tissues from the drawer beneath the doused lamp, and set it on the table. Then, he bent down and kissed me. With his whole body he pushed me forward, so that I was lying on my back, and he was sitting at the edge, leaning over me. It was marvellous to be underneath him, yet I could not shake my reluctance about the complete lack of light. 

I broke the kiss. “Bunny,” I said, as non-threateningly as I could, “not to disrupt you, but why did you turn off the light, old chap? Why, I can’t see my own buttons.”

“It’s all right, AJ, don’t worry about it,” he whispered gently. “I don’t need the light, and I’ll take care of everything.”

That evasive response only puzzled me further. “But I can’t see you,” I added, cautiously.

“I know. It’ll be better if you don’t see me.” He sounded so mystifyingly sure about that. “This way, you can imagine whatever you like.”

At first I was a fool, and I didn’t understand, but very quickly, a painful, horrible dread dawned on me. I recalled how my lack of natural attraction to members of our sex had given him such cause to doubt himself, not long ago. “Imagine—?” I almost couldn’t share my suspicion with him. “You aren’t supposing that I use the darkness to pretend that you’re a—?” I was not willing to finish the sentence aloud. I had to be mistaken. It couldn’t be true. Better I be wrong, than for my dear accomplice to allow that I should so callously break his heart and mine.

Yet there was no mistake. “It’s fine! I won’t mind, I promise that I won’t!” he said, with so much earnest kindness. “All I want is for this to be as good for you as it can possibly be, and, I know that you prefer women! You’re already giving me so much. It’s all right, I’ll not be offended in the least.”

And that was what broke my spirit. A frigid, unrelenting coldness hit me abruptly, and sapped all the life from me. All my drive and strength shuddered and dissolved into weakness. I couldn’t believe what he had just said.

“Is that all right, AJ?”

I did not have the power to reply. I was blindly furious. But then, my pitiful ferocity withered as soon as it was born. In its place, abject misery became my bosom pal. I could not resent Bunny for his outrageous plan, not when he was only being hopelessly considerate toward me. How could I resent him for being right? 

It was deplorably true that my inclination goes toward the feminine. No matter how much my mind longed to attach itself to Bunny’s, and regardless of how good it felt to be around him or of the fact that I wished to spend the rest of my life in only his affable company, my unaccommodating body simply did not have a lust to match his. 

I hadn’t thought this would be a problem. What of it, if I’m not exactly like him in this regard? I still considered him to be the most lovely thing to ever grace the earth’s surface. I still longed to touch him, and to be touched by him, and to drown in the soothing peacefulness of his long-cherished intimacy. With him alone did my villain’s soul ever find contentment and rest. What difference should it make, anyway, if he wasn’t _as _physically thrilling for me as a woman would be, as long as I had him, and he had me—as much of me as was his pure heart’s content? That was all that I needed.__

__But I ought to have been awfully ashamed to even think that Bunny wouldn’t try his hardest to improve upon that design. Of course he would want to make it good for me, too._ _

__I was very sorry to have put that burden upon him. I could easily forgive him for wanting to be a perfect partner to me, and not just because I was well-accustomed to that want myself._ _

__“AJ—?” Bunny lit the gaslight; he might as well have brought a limp, dying star into the cold, stifling bedroom, for its sudden shine did nothing to buck me up. With the gloomy light around us, he gasped at me. “Good lord!”_ _

__While he was no less beautiful now than he had been minutes ago, I was in such a bad state that I must have been a very sorry and very shocking sight. There were unhappy tears at the corners of my eyes; it was difficult to see through the wet film, though I did not care about that. The overwhelming sadness and devastation inside me, coupled with the crushing realization that I might never be able to give Bunny what he needed most from me, made me absolutely unable to school my nerves for once. “Bunny,” I pleaded, “please, don’t ask that of me.”_ _

__He hovered close over me. “What?” he whispered. His young, round expression, which was made a little leaner in his years with me, poured out so many buckets of worry, confusion, and devotion that it nearly hurt to look upon._ _

__“Don’t ask me to be with anyone but you, even in my own mind.” I held his arm weakly. “It’s only your familiar hand on me that I want to feel. I’ll gladly go without women forever, if I can wake up next to you every morning, and be welcomed by your fond kiss to another dreamlike day at your side. Surely you know that I’ve not been faking the sincere pleasure of holding your hand, or of sleeping with you? It was all real, as real as anything ever was. I’ll not fake anything now. You’ll see for yourself how well you suit me after all. Only, please, let it be you and me alone in this bed. No one else, imagined or real, to come between us.” My stuffed throat betrayed me. I had wanted to go on telling him that it was his sweet peacefulness that attracted me like no other, and that a carnal anticipation for his body was not at all necessary for me to want to be with him, but my mind was gravely clouded, and it was difficult to place my complicated thoughts into words._ _

__The gaslight would remain ablaze for the remainder of the night; its dying character seemed to improve into a hopeful tint, when Bunny treated my request with the same seriousness with which it had been delivered, and made the effort to struggle out an answer, “All right. I—I think that I understand. I won’t—I won’t suggest that again.”_ _

__I was so relieved. The tears that had stayed in their recesses now fell with abandon, and marred my cheeks. The clearing of my throat was deafeningly loud, and not very effective. “You may believe that you are the pale moon,” I said, “but it is me who is the moon, and you are the extraordinary sun.”_ _

__And he actually rewarded the mad bit of poetry with an honest, long-suffering laugh. He drew closer, and wiped the tears from my face._ _

__Involuntarily, my eyes closed briefly at the comfort of his acceptance of me._ _

__The temperature of the room came back to a happier level as he bowed his head to kiss my neck. I remained lying down where I was while his other leg came onto the bed at last, and his first leg went over me. With his own body he had me pinned to the bed. His elbows rested near mine, and his hands gripped my upper arms._ _

__I sighed at the wet, affectionate press of him on my vulnerable throat. My hands found a tentative hold on his waist. I was his, with which to do whatever he wanted._ _

__He backed away from my neck, and undid my fob, waistcoat, and bowtie. His pace was slow and patient. Every meticulous pinch of my clothes was a silent gesture of his appreciation for what I was giving up to him. He seemed to think it a prodigious sacrifice on my part._ _

__I was of a very different mind. I was overcome with fondness for him. It destroyed me to watch him be exceedingly gentle, while I knew that the object of his greatest desires was so willingly in his grasp._ _

__He opened my white undershirt, and caressed my bare chest. He marvelled at the muscles that so much cricket and hard work had built underneath toughened skin. I had thought my appearance and constitution regrettably ruined by my struggles on the continent; my friend, in his high regard for me, was making me to see his own point of view on the matter._ _

__Each stroke from his fingers was a self-contained praise of my physique. As was made clear by my white hair, I was not young, not even as young as Bunny; but from the worshipful and precise touches he gave me, I could have been. This slow, gentle affection from him was unlike any other intimacy I’d ever known. My nerves were growing alive to the riveting texture of his skin and his breath._ _

__Next, my trousers came cleanly off; he pulled it down each leg. I saw him notice that I had become half-aroused underneath the white undergarment that remained, but he steered clear of it. Tenderly, he dragged his palm up and down my barely-covered inner thighs._ _

__The mild warmth that simmered between my legs steadily grew. I wondered what he planned to do with me. I wished with all my being that, whatever it was, it was the height of his best private imagination. There was nothing I wouldn’t give to fulfil his darkest fantasies. “Show me how much you want this, Bunny,” I whispered selfishly, though my throat was still thick for weeping. “Make me feel your want. Fill me with it.”_ _

__He caught his breath and trembled, staggered by my simple words. He glanced at me, and nodded infinitesimally, appearing to be brought to the verge of crying his joy and excitement again; then he pressed on, with greater tenderness than before. He carefully worked off the last of my underclothes. From the top of my socks, to the shoulders of the shirt and waistcoat that hadn’t been removed completely, I was without a cover. He lowered his mouth and licked experimentally along the curves of my upper thighs, still staying away from that more insistent region of my anatomy._ _

__Suddenly, I knew what he meant to do. It shouldn’t have been much of a surprise, and yet the sudden weight of what would be our first time together was staggering. “Bunny,” I murmured._ _

__He looked up, and gathered the courage to share a cute, nervous smirk. “Hold on to me, please,” he breathed back. Then, with prodigious fondness and desire, he bowed down again, let his jaw fall, and took my ache into his throat._ _

__I gasped like a crashing wave. He was gloriously hot fire, warming me after a life-long trek through a freezing blizzard of numbing snow. I felt him grip the base of me while he slid up and down my length with maddening care. He was marvellously good. I fisted his hair softly, tangling the top of his precious head in my grasp; a low, aroused moan was torn from deep inside me._ _

__The noise of my rapture was oil to his fire. His hot, wet mouth moved along me without reservation. The texture of his tongue on me was incredible. I wanted so much more of him. One set of soft fingers clutched my naked hip._ _

__“Lord above,” I exhaled. My toes curled in my socks. My knees parted wider for him, to give him uninhibited access to me. My patient friend could have as much of me as he desired._ _

__His eager manner made his delight at my enthusiasm apparent. I followed the bobbing of his golden hair as he rose and descended hungrily on me. It felt brilliantly good, world-shatteringly good, yet it wasn’t nearly enough. Affectionately, he stroked my hip and thigh, innocently revering the flawed canvas; that eternal innocence of his character made for a wickedly captivating contrast when coupled with the deep, intoxicating heat of his mouth._ _

__“More,” I begged raggedly, “more. Don’t stop.”_ _

__He moaned with pleasure around me. Moaned loudly, by Jove! As if he were the one on the receiving end of such generous love as this. He savoured me as if I were his favourite meal. His gorgeous moans pleased and wracked me as much as his touches did._ _

__It still wasn’t enough. I needed more of him. The closeness and the bliss of his generous slickness filled me with some of my most emotional memories of him, which should not have been appropriate to this raunchy context. But I was sure that there was nothing obscene about this. This was as right and natural as if we’d only been lounging underneath a clear sky in the lazy grass of the spectators. I was vaguely reminded of some of the soft poetry he had written in school, which I had not heard him recite for me but which I had made it my business to read in the paper. He had been so shy about his poetry. “Don’t stop, please,” I begged him again. My hips tried to thrust up to seek his mouth._ _

__His steady strength kept me fixed to the sheets. He dropped his mouth low on me, giving me exactly the smooth warmth that I longed for._ _

__My kinship for him burned. I whimpered, “Oh God, Bunny.” That endearing childhood nickname of his tasted especially delicious on my tongue at this moment. Its appeal was extraordinary. I had to taste it again. “Bunny,” I repeated. “Bunny!"_ _

__He never let up. He was flushed to the tips of his ears. The erotic sight of my old companion giving me pleasure pushed me to the ends of my self-control. It was of no longer of any consequence that I hadn’t felt a physical attraction to Bunny at the start. My body had learned what he was capable of—was in the process of learning it—and I was reduced to a hopeless double-sided need for him. I already couldn’t do without his kind constancy, friendship, and inexplicable interest in my well-being; now, I also depended upon him to cast upon me his arcane magic of a breathtaking and sensual embrace that I’d never imagined possible._ _

__I was nearing the end of my rope. I scratched out enough presence of mind to warn him of it. “Bunny, I’m—I’m close!”_ _

__He was on it, without a flinch. He removed himself from me to quickly grab a handkerchief from what I now clearly perceived in the light to be a pile of a few beside the lamp. He chose one and brought it to my groin. He stroked my arousal, urging my body to release, as it desperately wished to. Simultaneously, he kept himself on the support of one arm and whispered to me. “Come on.” His loving, blown eyes mesmerized me. His lips were distractingly wet. His light skin was flushed with a pretty heat. “I want it, AJ. You can give it to me.” His kind voice was so nostalgic to me; it was so pacifying, and so beautiful._ _

__I moaned his name, a good many times. This was the end of me. I shuddered, and lost my breath; I let go of everything. Unabashed pleasure took me for its own. My vision blinked and sparkled. I did not think of anything except for Bunny, and how happy he would be that I’d shared this with him._ _

__It was Bunny’s whimpering voice that brought me back to my senses. His look on me was concentrated; when I met his gaze, I meant to give him a smile or a laugh, but he was too embarrassed to face me, and averted his._ _

__There was a clear reason for his embarrassment. I looked down._ _

__He had taken one of the other handkerchiefs, and was gratifying himself to the satisfied picture of me. He had been slow with me, but was not slow with himself. His clothes remained on him, with the exception that the top of his trousers was undone. His knees were pulled up so that he could reach himself; the rest of him was half-collapsed on top of me, basking in my warmth and glow. He went faster still, bordering on urgent. His feverish, anxious speed did strike me as the best that he could have._ _

__I stretched out my arm, and slowed his hand by holding it with my own._ _

__Surprise flew to his expression. He shot disbelief at me. I was only glad to meet his eyes again._ _

__“Easy, now,” I said, helping him find a measured pace. Although I wasn’t absolutely confident of my intervention, I thought it worth my while to try to be of use to him. “There’s no reason to hurry.”_ _

__My precious rabbit! He huffed shakily, and his lovesick grimace pained me to behold. After a hesitance, he allowed slight tugs from my hand to influence his own. With me to calm him, he recovered some of his steadiness. We took our time. His grimace slowly relaxed into something substantially more agreeable. Once he was relatively calm again, I did not retract myself from him, and soon enough his hand and mine were bringing him to pleasure in combination._ _

__I could see that he didn’t comprehend why I would wish to do such a thing, but he was far too thrilled about my involvement to remark upon it._ _

__The truth was that I longed to touch him as much as I could. It was imperative that my body not be apart from him own. I had to become an extension of him physically, as my soul already was of his. I wanted, with a frightening craving, to hear more of that distinct sweetness in his soul echoed in his enchanting whimpers. His body, which I had come to know over the years as well as my own, was freshly emanating hot and eager love for me. He ached, and for my care alone. In the worst of my ego, it was a rush of power; the rest of me was too hypnotized by the rubbing of his hand and the subtle gyrations of his clothed hips to exist anywhere in myself. I existed in him._ _

__He rocked into his hand with the last of his energy, and shook against me. He did not hide any of his ecstasy, and the show of high emotions that he put on fascinated me enormously. He, who is so often adorably expressive even for the smallest of feelings, gasped and shivered for me. He cried out my name, clutched at me, and gave up all that he had before my eyes. He was a private feast to all my senses. There was amazing satisfaction in his long whines and in the pretty fluttering of his shining eyes._ _

__I felt like a new man._ _

__I was sorely pleased that I hadn’t disappointed him. This chap, whose love was the reason I stayed in Ham Common, had got his fair share of thrill from me at last. With this night, I’d begun to repay my infinite debt for these years of basking in his revitalizing fondness and friendship. I was aglow with good cheer. In some mysterious way, I had made Bunny happy; it hadn’t made a difference after all that I was cut from a different cloth than he, or that he was the first and only man of my romantic acquaintance._ _

__Very slowly, he came back to me. Euphoria and gratification had hit him hard, and I had no desire to rush him through his daze. The room filled with our breathing and our quiet awe of one another. After a while, his soiled handkerchief joined its friend on the floor. Neither of us was presently equal to caring a great deal about tidiness._ _

__I threw off what remained of my jacket and waistcoat, and redid my underclothes. He, on the other hand, wouldn’t change out of his formal clothes until sometime after I had fallen asleep. I didn’t give him the chance to quit the bed while I was awake. A mood of adoration and gratitude had seized me; I hugged him to my breast, wishing to communicate my thanks to him when words alone were not enough to do the job._ _

__He reciprocated the embrace, and buried his dear face into my white shirt—the luckiest of my shirts._ _

__“That was wonderful, Bunny,” I said. It was a poor capture of the overflowing, unashamed glitter from which my heart was apt to burst._ _

__“Thanks, AJ.” The muffled acknowledgment was as appreciative and soft as the sympathetic man who spoke it. “Thank you.” He dug himself even closer to me. I hooked a leg over his._ _

__We did have a rather awful lot on our minds that we might have talked about—but that was too much for our exhaustion, and it could wait the night._ _

__End._ _


End file.
